Risk
by 1917
Summary: Russia and America. Playing Risk. That's really about it.


It took something like half an hour, Russia thought, for them-working together!-to clear off America's dining room table. "Why," he asked, grimacing at an old snack wrapper he'd found in the mess, "do you _have_ a table?"

"Hey! I use it sometimes!" America practically pouted. "Besides, you're the one who said we couldn't play on the floor."

Russia decided not to grant that a response. It clearly didn't deserve one. Instead he reached for a shelf above America's head, removing the game box from the bookcase and putting it on the newly-cleared surface. "Your rules are, ah, 'dibs' on one's home country, yes?"

"Yup! And just pick the rest however y'want. But I've got North America, you've got Asia."

After spreading the board out on the table, Russia distributed the single-soldier pieces according to America's rule. It was nice, he supposed, sentimental. Although some of his borders were, ah. A little strange.

Europe and South America ended up part of America's starting territory. (_"Shame nobody else would come play, hey? Sucks doing up the whole board between two people."_) He, then, had Africa and Australia. America had attacked through Alaska first, but lost-and thankfully; Russia had been made to play the game other times, and he knew how likely things were to go downhill if he lost Kamchatka.

They both received many extra soldiers at the beginning of each round, at least until attacks began to play out successfully. He lost control of Africa first (_"Western Europe to North Africa!"_), but then managed to converge on Ukraine from several of his Asian territories.

The five- and ten-man pieces were starting to come into play.

"_Damn it!_ No fair!"

"The dice are not cheating you, America."

"Shut up! You-did something! With your mind!"

"You have only lost _most _of Europe. See, look, you still have Iceland, maybe you can make a comeback?" Russia smiled wide, passing the offensive dice to America, as it was his turn. "If you feel like taking the risk, of course!"

"..."

"Ha! A hero always rescues his citizens!"

"_How_-"

America shrugged, cockily. "Took a risk, right, bud? Think I'm done this round, though. Need more guys before I beat your ass into next week."

The game continued far longer than either of them expected it to. They caught each other losing focus now and then: Russia humming under his breath, America starting to slump his head onto the table. Eventually, somehow, alcohol became involved. That had been a while ago now. Russia couldn't in good faith say he was entirely sure where it had all gone.

America had somehow managed to maintain his control of Europe for the rest of the game, and North America as well. Russia had men in Brazil, but South America was, well, America's other than that. He was losing Africa and Asia almost just as quickly.

"Gonna get ya. Bastard."

"If you...think so!"

"I-I think so!"

He lost Africa and Asia.

"YOU CAN'-CAN' DO THAT."

"Da. Can." Russia paused, blinked. "Roll dice."

America did, but grumbled anyway. "Coward..."

After running out of his other territories, Russia was deploying every man he received in Papua New Guinea. He had a few ten-soldier pieces there at this point, a strong territory by any means, although it was one of only four now.

"I, you know-" America pitched the defensive dice at Russia. "I won. Already. Really."

"Haven't." He rolled them. He beat both of America's attacking dice.

"Who cares about-about Australia." America shook his hands, drop the attacking dice again, won this time.

"...Australia." Russia leaned over to the paper serving as a tally, knocked off a couple of his own men.

"Australia cares! I have-THE REST OF THE WORLD. I won."

"Haven't won."

They continued to tally losses until one side ran out of men. It happened to be Russia, who was forced to hand over $50, based on a mid-game bet he only half-remembered. America actually remembered it less than _that_, but wasn't about to protest once he saw the bills.

"Who's good!"

"I suppose... you played well. For you."

"Kicked your butt, Red!"

"...i-it is 2010."

"And?"

"And-mn. Nothing. Not important."


End file.
